Prompt: Write a complex poem.

Paranoia

Is he looking at me? I cannot tell
because he’s slow to meet my eye.
I saw him in the hall and in the stairwell
and think he’s been following me for some time.

He slows down and our eyes meet.
I force my fear into a wide smile.
He’s been following me for some time, I think,
but if asked, will he hide behind denial?

In my state of fear, I force a smile.
He smiles back and asks about my day.
But I can’t hide behind denial
or ask if he intends foul play.

When he smiles and asks about my day
an eerie chill runs through my veins.
I know his hands intend foul play
as they make my side bleed in pain.

The eerie chill that ran through my veins
when I saw him in the hall and the stairwell
was the last thought I had as I bled out in pain.
His final look said he knew the dead won’t tell.

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013